Warpath
by Deadsomeone
Summary: They say compassion and empathy are the traits of a hero. Bruniik-Jun is a father and husband. He has neither for his enemies.
1. Before a Storm

Warpath

Chapter 1: Before a Storm

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: All I own is a couple books, and an old computer. Everything else belongs to Bethesda.

Bruniik-Jun woke just as the first glimmer of sunlight appeared on the horizon and turned the sky into an enormous mixture of red, orange and purple as if the world were aflame. He continued to sit and watch from his seat on the Throat of the World as the sun continued to rise and drive away the murky morning fogs from the marshes of The Rift.

It had become a persistent habit of his to return to the peak whenever his travels brought him near it, especially since the end of the civil war. He found that even though the war had ended and he'd averted Alduin's plan to end the world, conflict still seemed to find a way to worm its way into his life, and it was quickly changing from an entertaining hobby into an aggravating annoyance.

The main two reasons had just as much to do with him as it had to do with those he cared for. Ever since he'd defeated Alduin and truly come into power as the Dovahkiin, Bruniik felt his abilities in battle made any conflict he came into almost laughably easy. He rarely even used his Thu'um anymore, saving that for whenever an upstart dragon decided to test their mettle against him. But even so, the Dovahkiin rarely felt challenged anymore, especially since the high elves had left Skyrim in search of greener pastures to conquer.

Standing up, Bruniik couldn't help but sigh; at least Lydia would stop bothering him about disappearing for weeks on end now that he had more time to stay at home. This also meant he could spend more time with Joanna, and that was always worth any tongue-lashing that Lydia gave him.

"Maybe I should bring her a gift," he wondered aloud with a mirth in his voice that few people ever heard. As he walked towards High Hrothgar, he waved a farewell to Paarthurnax as the dragon began his daily meditation.

,.,.,.,.,

Even as the Dovahkiin walked away, Paarthurnax could not help but feel the same wonder he felt every time that Bruniik-Jun left after one of his short visits to meditate. The man's resilience had been incredible when Paarthurnax first met him, and even more so in the last decade since Alduin's defeat and after the end of the civil war; he only seemed to grow stronger. In fact, he had not seemed to age a day since then…

"Hmm," Paarthurnax grumbled, his face crinkling in contemplation, or as much as one can with a snout.

Paarthurnax turned from his seat on the dragon stone at the sound of wings and crunching snow over the ever present winds on the Throat of the World. He found Odahviing settling down next to his perch and craning his neck and head around in search of something.

"Drem Yol Lok, Paarthurnax. Has our zeymah already departed?" asked Odahviing, turning to look at him. Paarthurnax had always been rather surprised at how well the Dovahkiin and Odahviing had gotten along after their fight at Whiterun. One could even go as far as to say that two of them were grand friends. That thought, though strange, always made him feel as if his attempts to teach the Way of the Voice to his fellow dovah had succeeded in some small measure.

"Yes, he has departed only recently. He said something about presents and left. I am assuming it has something to do with Lydia." Paarthurnax always found it interesting how the most powerful warrior in Skyrim could be cowed by a few stern words from his wife, and turned from a hardened soldier into a giddy young man when presented with his daughter. Odahviing couldn't quite suppress a chuckle at that.

"Indeed, even the norak dovah must bow before Lydia's commands. Ever since they created their second kiir she has begun telling Bruniik that he shall not be disappearing 'willy nilly.'" Both dragons sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Odahviing resumed the conversation.

"Is he still visiting in those rags he calls armor?" he asked, sounding slightly vexed.

Paarthurnax felt his earlier curiosity rising again as he responded with a grunt.

Though Odahviing never pretended to be an expert on the functions of humans and their mortal kin, he was fairly sure that the cold and biting wind that was constantly present on the mountain peak would be dangerous to any mortal; nevertheless one dressed only in hide coverings. He couldn't help but ask his elder dragon, "Is that normal for humans?"

"No, but the blood of the dovah has always been strong in our zeymah."

,.,.,.,.,

Lydia sat in front of Klimmek's house and watched as the morning sun began to shine on the enormous expanse of the Throat of the World. After seeing it for the first time nearly a decade ago, and many times since then, she was still astounded at the sheer size of it. It brought back memories of the first time that she and Bruniik had climbed it and nearly died in the process.

It had taken them nearly three days to reach High Hrothgar and they nearly died on the way at least six times, with the cold biting at them the entire time, and with only the clothes on their back, some blankets, a small fire and each other for warmth. On the second night, a frost troll had caught them by surprise as they set up camp and was already beginning to choke the life out of Bruniik before she had shoved a dagger so far into the back of its head that only the hilt was visible.

Even with the uncomfortable memories that came with visiting Ivarstead, she came anyways, because she wasn't about let her idiot of a husband get wrapped up in some noble mission and get sidetracked again on the way to Whiterun. But of course, she couldn't bother him too much about his "saving people thing"; it was one of the reasons she married him. She supposed that was the reason that Klimmek had insisted quite vehemently that she could stay with him until Bruniik finished his visit to, as Joanna called them, Grandpa Arny and Pathunax with a simple statement of, "Of course, you guys are practically family around here."

As she wondered on that, her thoughts turned towards her daughter sleeping off the trip to Ivarstead. She was in a small bed in the house behind her with the fox that had followed her husband home several years ago. It still astounded her how much of both of them she saw in Joanna. She had her father's large, golden eyes and his aquiline nose, but she had her hair, complexion and high cheek bones. Though when it came to her personality, she was entirely too much like her father, with her need for adventure and excitement and the frightening ease with which she made friends.

And to think she was carrying another one. The thought made her smile.

Just as she was about to get up and return to the house, Klimmek exited it. The last year since Lydia had last seen him had treated him kindly, with only a few more wrinkles around his face to show the passage of the years.

"Good morrow, Lydia. What are you doing up so early?" he asked, his voice brisk, but friendly.

"Nothing, just thinking about some memories." she said, eyes turning to the mountain again. Klimmek stared at her for a moment before responding.

"Well, yes, that tends to happen with age, I find. So how have things been?"

"They've been well. The store in Whiterun is doing well, Joanna is growing more each day, and my husband is finally starting to act like the responsible man he should be." Both of them chuckled at the joke for a moment before continuing to make small talk. It had nearly been fifteen minutes and people were beginning to leave their houses to start the day, when the comfortable silence that had permeated the small hamlet was broken by the sound of galloping hooves. Everyone turned towards the sound, expecting a guard returning from a patrol.

From the north a guard came riding towards them, at full tilt on a chestnut horse, and was able to shout one word before two arrows sprouted from his back.

"Bandits!"

A/N:Hey, thanks for reading. Tell me what you thought. My sincerest thanks to Tomed Ceht for pre-reading.

Translations

Drem Yol Lok – Greetings

Zeymah - Brother

Norak Dovah– Fiercest Dragon

Kiir - Child

Edit-7/30/2012-Fixed up some grammatical errors and other stuff. Re-betad by Nenalata.


	2. Calm

Warpath

Chapter 2: Calm

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: Of course I own Skyrim. Since we're granting wishes now I also have a girlfriend and I'm rich and immortal.

It had only taken Bruniik a half hour to reach High Hrothgar from the mountain's peak. He'd stopped by to say hello to Arngeir and the rest of the Greybeards and ate a small breakfast with them. An hour after, he continued on his descent; Bruniik had counted three thousand sixty five steps when he felt the particular pull that memories always had when he wasn't fighting and let his mind wander. One particular memory that he remembered quite vividly was one of the few times he'd visited the mountain with Lydia after the war.

They had only reached about half way to High Hrothgar when they heard the roar of an incoming dragon. Bruniik turned towards the dragon, watched as it neared and heard it roar at him again. The instinctual part of his brain that understood the Thu'um quickly translated it. He turned towards Lydia and saw her readying the glass greatsword he'd made for her as a wedding present.

"Honey, I need to borrow your sword," he'd said, and he could remember how she put on that scowl that, personally, he thought made her look more adorable then intimidating.

"Why? Just because we're married does not mean I can't fight." And of course he knew that; it was why he practiced with her.

"Because I only have a sword, and that dragon just challenged me to single combat." He heard the sound of wings getting closer. "If I don't respond, it would be most uncouth." He used the smile that many people found charming but Lydia found annoying.

"Fine," she said with a sigh, and handed the blade to him by the handle. Bruniik quickly grabbed the blade and turned to watch as the dragon landed in front of him slightly higher up on the steps. Unfortunately for the dragon, he'd picked a narrow ledge to make his stand on so he was stuck facing Bruniik or dropping off the mountain to retreat, which he couldn't; not when the dragon was the one who issued a challenge. The dragon must have been relatively inexperienced looking back, because almost all of the dragons that challenged Bruniik to combat chose more open ground to maneuver.

Bruniik remembered the fight perfectly, just like all of his fights: the weight of the sword in his hand, the feel of his armor, and how the dragon had seemed to hesitate momentarily. Perhaps his reputation had preceded him, but it was of no matter, because that minuscule moment was all he needed to begin the attack. As he said the first word, he could already feel the pressure of using the full power of the Thu'um.

"FUS"

He could see it all. How the snow fell across the dragons form. The slight widening of its eyes as it realized the mistake it made. The slow expansion of its chest as it prepared to retaliate. Too late. Bruniik felt the pressure build until he felt like someone was pushing at his eyes and he released.

"RO DAH"

With a roar of thunder, the world immediately in front of him turned into a chaotic flurry of snow, loose pebbles and rock. The dragon recoiled and was thrown onto its hind legs. This was the opening. He ran as fast as he could with Lydia's greatsword in hand. Just as the dragon was reorienting itself, he reached his target: the dragon's stomach. He had to crouch to wield it properly, under the dragon, but Bruniik took the blade, in both hands, and with a shout shoved it as far as he could into his target.

The dragon gave an inarticulate roar of pain as Bruniik turned the blade and ripped out the sword through its side, along with the contents of its stomach. He felt them dripping onto him as he rolled out from under the dragon and watched its head begin to loll to the side. He made the finishing cut with an overhand swipe to the skull and heard the crunch of both bone and scale under the well-honed blade.

Turning around, he could already feel the dragon's soul being devoured. Like being covered in hot water and the rush of memories that came with it. It was always strange watching himself kill a dragon from its own eyes.

He walked down towards Lydia and prepared to return her sword when she recoiled sharply as he got within six feet of her. She had a frown on her face this time.

"What?" he had asked, honestly confused.

"By Talos, you smell like a draugr!"

"Really?" He took a moment to smell himself, and indeed, the stench that covered him smelled like equal parts death and roasted skeever. It was days before Lydia let him sleep anywhere near her.

Even as the memory receded back into his mind, Bruniik couldn't help but feel the same contentment he felt whenever he thought of Lydia. Just a couple more days and he would be home. Thinking of home-cooked meals, a laughing daughter, and how Lydia always smells like those snowberries she liked, the Dovahkiin picked up his pace and continued counting the steps.

,.,.,.,.,

Bruniik-Jun had counted to five thousand seventy eight when he noticed something. The first thing he noticed was the smell; it was a familiar scent, a smell he would never truly forget: one of his first true memories of Skyrim. The smell of burning wood and human flesh. Helgen and his first meeting with Alduin.

But that was impossible; the only settlement near enough to the Throat of the World to be smelled, if it were pillaged, from were he was was Ivarstead…

"_Crap_." Bruniik quickly turned his brisk jog down the mountain into a sprint. Even with him only wearing his hide armor and not carrying anything other than a steel sword, he wouldn't be able to get there fast enough. When he reached the next ledge where the steps switched directions he quickly brought up one of his less-used shouts.

"FEIM ZII GRON" he said to the open air as he jumped off the ledge.

The Dovahkiin felt the loss of sensation that happened whenever he became ethereal, even though he knew he should be being pummeled by winds on his little express ride. He landed on the next ledge and immediately jumped again; he couldn't hold this form for much more than two minutes before it began to strain him. No more than a minute later, he landed at the base of the mountain and his assumptions were proven correct.

The small houses that surrounded the road that cut down the middle of the town were either broken into, aflame, or already cinders. He could hear the crackle of the log mill as a flame tried to start up in it before guards and townsmen put it out. The smell he'd felt on the mountain had increased in strength to almost painful levels. Burned flesh and the groans of the dying. Jogging towards the entrance to the village; he passed several bodies, the majority of which were town guards, some of townspeople he recognized, and several bodies that he didn't. He immediately moved towards the groups of guards and people that were congregating at the side of the road.

One of the men quickly recognized him as he drew near.

"Bruniik, you're here. Thank the Nine." The crowd of people quickly rushed forward pelting him with words and pleas he couldn't catch over the noise. He wasn't about to let them babble on like this; he needed to figure out what happened.

"Quiet down!" he shouted using his Legate's voice. They immediately bowed down under his gravely voice and looked at him expectantly. It appeared that the chains of command were his again.

"Who is in command here?" he asked. One of the guardsmen walked forward. He looked fairly young, but he was covered in black smudges, blood, and the helm he held in his hand was deeply cratered. Everyone else in the group mirrored his state and carried the general looked of having just come out of a mine collapse. Their eyes carried a dull look to them that was disturbingly familiar to Bruniik.

"I am," said the young commander, his voice already giving away the amount of fatigue he was feeling.

"What happened here?"

"Bandit raid, sir." Bruniik was surprised by that. Ever since he'd made it a point to travel and hunt down any raiders he could find, the majority of them had stopped attacking towns and stuck to highway robbery.

"They came from the north, just after sunrise. We were able to hold them off well enough until they brought in a mage. After that, I think they figured the loot wasn't worth the trouble and retreated."

"Were there any people wounded, any casualties?" asked Bruniik, hoping that for once there wouldn't be.

The commander seemed to visibly deflate at the question; the crowd around them also began to murmur sadly.

"There were some casualties, sir; the majority of us got out with non-fatal injuries…" the young commander hesitated. "Sir, Klimmek was injured during the bandits' retreat. We have him at the inn; we're trying what we can, but … the majority of our medicine was used trying to save some of the others."

Bruniik closed his eyes at that, quickly reined in his emotion, and opened them again.

"Take me to him," he said.

,.,.,.,.,

Though the Dovahkiin had seen plenty of good men and soldiers die in combat, it never made it any easier when someone that he knew and cared for died. That part never got any easier.

They had Klimmek in one of the beds at the inn; he looked like a giant had used him as his personal practice dummy. He had at least two arrows in his right thigh. One looked like the shaft had snapped which would make getting it out dangerous, painful and damn near impossible without a trained professional. Another arrow had lodged itself in Klimmek's stomach, and he held a bloodied rag to his chest where a deep knife wound was turning the furs on the bed a dark red.

Bruniik took a seat next to the bed. Klimmek seemed to be sliding in and out of consciousness and muttering to himself.

"Klimmek, I'm here," said Bruniik. Klimmek opened his eyes at the sound of his voice and stared at him. The Dovahkiin didn't know how, but something was wrong.

"Bruniik, I'm dying…" said Klimmek, his voice soft, almost sounding strained.

"You're not we'll find -"

"Shut up boy, I'm dying and we're days ride from any help. But that is not important. I need to tell you something." Klimmek's face was already covered in a light sheen of sweat as he took in a ragged breath. His eyes closed for a moment.

"What is it?" asked Bruniik as he leaned in closer.

"Your wife…Lydia and your daughter were…here." said Klimmek stopping to take in shallow breaths twice. Bruniik felt his face go slack at the news.

"What?"

"She got here last night…and stayed with me. Said…didn't want you to get lost on the way home. They took them. The bandits took them and left. I tried to protect your girl."

Bruniik felt the bottom of his stomach drop out from under him and for the first time in years he felt fear bloom in his chest.

,.,.,.,.,

Bruniik walked out of the inn and stood. There was a burning town around him and there were people dying and they needed his help. But none of it mattered.

_They took Lydia and Joanna. _

_They took them._

_They took my wife and daughter._

_THEY TOOK THEM_

Even as he felt the roiling mass of wrath trying to explode through his skin Bruniik placed both of his hands on his head and squeezed. He breathed as if he were about to drown in the ocean of pure rage forming in his skull.

_I have to think, I need to be focused._

He took one last, deep breath and let go of his head. Let his hands fall to his sides and stepped out of from the inn's porch.

_I am going to save my family._

_I am going to find who did this._

_I am going to kill them._

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I actually had the chapter done on Sunday, but I was unable to get in contact with my beta and subsequent attempts to find another were unsuccessful. So I'm going to rely on you, my lovely readers, to catch my no doubt numerous grammatical errors.

So read and tell me what you think.

Edit-7/30/2012- Fixed some errors, thanks to Nenalata.


	3. Seek

Warpath

Chapter 3: Seek...

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Bruniik continued walking across the only road in Ivarstead. Ignoring the groups of people that moved around him and the small flames that still covered the road in places, the stench of death still lingering with the corpses on the road. He heard the sharp crack as someone reset a bone into place, and someone's last gurgling breath through the blood in their throat. He heard it all and smelled how death had seeped into the cobblestones under his feet, but none of it averted his eyes from his target.

Klimmek's house.

As he neared, Bruniik noticed how the house seemed almost untouched compared to the other buildings he'd seen when he first entered the town. The porch was without a mark, though the chairs were thrown to the side and some broken.

He remembered the first night he spent in Ivarstead on that porch, staring at the mountain with Lydia next to him. He tightened his left hand around the hilt of the sword at his waist and heard the leather creak in protest.

Continuing into the house, the fight that took place there became readily apparent. The wooden door had been hacked to pieces, small shards still hanging onto the hinges and the rest scattered on the floor of the doorway. Bits and pieces of the wall and roof to his left were smoldering with a trail of smudged floor leading to it. Two burned corpses laid in front of the door way, their skin still smoldering and faces burned beyond recognition.

_Looks like Lydia and Klimmek quickly took the offensive. She always does._

Further in, to his right, Bruniik found the table that normally held the food turned into a makeshift barrier. Two more dead bandits lay across it, one with an axe splitting his face in two and the other with one hand nailed to the table with an arrow and the splintered arm of chair in his eye. After the table lay only one more corpse, this one in steel armor while the other had been in leather with pieces of iron cobbled together.

Kneeling next to the dead bandit, Bruniik turned him over. The man's face was frozen in a rectus of pain, the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his neck. Pulling the blade out with a grunt, Bruniik stared at the neat hole it'd made and at the floor through the thumb sized hole at the back of the bandit's neck. It took considerable strength and a sharp blade to stab through a man's spine.

Bruniik turned the blade in his hand and felt his carefully controlled emotions fumble as he recognized it. A dragon-bone knife. The only dragon-bone knife. The knife he'd made for Lydia after she lost her ring and nearly lost her hand in one of their last battles against a dragon priest, Morokei.

He could taste sulfur and fire at the back of his throat as he stood up and placed the dagger in his belt.

"_What will you burn? What will you spare?"_

_"Power requires focus."_

Thinking of Paarthurnax's advice, Bruniik reigned in his emotions, trapped them in a vault at the back of his mind and touched the ring on his left hand. The cool touch of the metal brought him little comfort.

He continued into the ruined home. He stopped at the smaller of the two beds in the house. The covers were strewn across the floor, the body of a small fox with an arrow through it next to them. Picking up the fox by the tail, Bruniik noticed the arrow was forged from dwarven metal, like one of the arrows in Klimmek. That type of metal was rare, especially in bandit hands.

Ripping the arrow out and insuring that the knife at his waist was secure, Bruniik stepped out into Ivarstead.

,.,.,.,.,

Lydia woke with a start.

Her instincts already kicking in as she returned to awareness, she noticed that both her hands and feet were bound. She was gagged by a length of rope. She was on the back of a carriage covered by a tarp.

The last thing she remembered was driving her knife into someone's neck, a scream, and then everything going black. She must've been knocked out; the knot at the back of her head showed as much.

_Why aren't I dead?_ she thought as she began fumbling to remove the rope, struggling with the binds around her wrists. Her mind quickly began supplying her with memories. The bandit raid, the improvised flame trap Klimmek and her had built, the rush of bandits as they stumbled over the table. Finding the slack in the rope, she pulled it down around her neck. Lydia quickly began probing the area around her, hoping that the worst hadn't happened. She felt the noose that had been choking her throat dissipate when her hands landed on another form beside her. She felt the long tangle of hairs that her daughter had let her head become without Bruniik there to cut it.

Joanna began to stir at the touch of her hands. Lydia removed the rope around her daughter's head as best she could in the darkness created by the tarp.

"Ma, what's going on?" whispered Joanna, a slight wavering in her voice giving away her fear. Lydia wondered what was happening as well. For what reason could the bandits have taken them, when they were destroying an entire village? Even a raid was strange, given the looming threat her husband posed against bandits. Could it have been on mere whim?

"Joanna, what did you see?" asked Lydia, her voice calm and steady as she tried to move closer to her daughter and untie the ropes at her wrists.

"I saw you and da's friend fighting those men, the bandits, and then they hit you and they stabbed him…" Joanna's voice began to waver at the end and Lydia tried her best from letting her maternal instincts get in the way.

"Keep going, honey." Even so, her voice took on a soft tone.

"Then…then some of the bandits picked you up, and then they took me and began leaving. I tried screaming, but one of them hit me." Lydia could already hear the beginning of tears in her daughter's voice. Giving up on the ropes, she tried to comfort her daughter as best she could with tied hands.

Whoever had tied the ropes had known what they were doing, and without her knife it would take time to untie the ropes.

"Mom, are we going to be okay?" Lydia could feel Joanna shaking as she placed her hands on her cheeks. She tried to wipe away the tears as best she could.

"Yes, we will be." said Lydia her voice steady and calm.

,.,.,.,.,

Commander Wulfric was talking to some of the townsman when he felt it. A sense of foreboding, an instinctual fear as if he were being tracked by a predator. Like the first time he was preparing for a raid on a camp of bandits, a sense that Death was looming over his shoulder in preparation to take his life. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He quickly turned to look around and found why his soldier's instincts had awakened for the second time that day.

Bruniik-Jun was walking towards him.

Wulfric had always had great respect for the man, even without all of the stories that surrounded him. He was a good man, and he would always take time to help those who asked. Bruniik even occasionally took the time to train some of the guards when he was in town. Though it was a brave few that did; the man was like lightning with a sword in his hand, and the feel of power around him made most uncomfortable, even Wulfric.

But even so, this was different. The feel of power around him seemed to have sharpened into ebony blades and his entire body seemed coiled in preparation for battle. His normally genial face hardened into stone.

When Bruniik stopped in front of him, he could already feel himself beginning to sweat, his body telling him to move away. Bruniik stood taller than him, taller than most men, and looked down at him, with eyes like molten gold.

"What's your name?"

"W…Wulfric sir." Said the young commander; he tried his best not to wince at his stutter. He felt himself flinch as the elder man brought up something between them. Wulfric was surprised, and relieved, to see that it was a simple arrow. Bruniik handed him the arrow and he was surprised by the weight of it, it felt heavier then it should have, the arrow head darkened by coagulated blood.

"Have any of the dead men that you've found in the village been carrying this type of arrow?" asked Bruniik, his voice rasping, turning the simple question into a command.

"No, sir."

"Good." The smile on Bruniik's face unsettled Wulfric more then it comforted him, the edges tinged with dark malice.

The man in front of Wulfric took a deep breath, and transformed again into the commander that had stepped into Ivarstead that morning. Though his eyes remained just as dark, the golden pools just as unsettlingly fluorescent as always.

"Now then, Wulfric, how many guards do you still having willing and able?" asked Bruniik with a relaxed tone. Wulfric tried to relax as well and kept his thoughts away from some of the stories the men under his command told in whispered tones around the fires.

"A little over a dozen, sir."

"Very well. I believe you should send two men on horseback to Riften, asking for assistance." The Dovahkiin scratched at the stubble on his face in contemplation, his eyes closing.

"Come with me."

Wulfric followed dutifully after Bruniik until the older man stopped just outside the town. Wulfric still couldn't quite believe how much the raid had damaged the town. It would take weeks, if not months, to completely repair the damage.

All of a sudden, he felt a thickening in the air, as if it were the moment just before a lightning strike, when he felt himself recoil as what felt like a pick-axe tapped at his ears three times.

"OD AH VIING"

Bruniik turned his head towards Wulfric and stared him in the eye.

"Wulfric, have your men been able to scavenge leather armor from the bandits?" Wulfric quickly nodded.

"Good, gather a bow and some arrows as well."

As the young commander walked away to fulfill the Dovahkiin's orders, he heard the sound of large wings on the wind, and a forgotten tongue.

,.,.,.,.,

"It appears that our zeymah has need of me, Paarthurnax." rumbled Odahviing, turning towards the southeastern edge of the Throat of the World, his red scales glinting in the morning sunlight as he turned again towards the elder dovah.

"Indeed," replied Paarthurnax, his tone slow and controlled, belying his centuries of experience. Even so, the slight undercurrents of worry were apparent in his voice as he switched to the dragon-tongue.

"It has been long since our young brother has called on you. Something is amiss." Odahviing nodded in agreement, his nostrils flaring in thought. His brother had long since outgrown the need for his assistance, only truly calling him to converse and to present him to his mate and offspring. Odahviing always found great interest in his conversations with Bruniik-Jun and the greater understanding of humans that they brought him.

"Most certainly. I should depart immediately." Turning, the red dragon uttered a farewell and, with a flap of his wings, took flight into the frigid air at the top of the world.

"Take care, Odahviing." said Paarthurnax in response.

Quick and sure, Odahviing found the location of the Dovahkiin outside a small village at the base of the Throat of the World. The small pinpoint of Bruniik's form far below him quickly grew as he moved into a dive. He pulled out of it as he rushed towards the ground and landed in front of his comrade with cloud of dirt and two sharp flaps of his wings.

"Drem Yol Lok, Bruniik." began Odahviing as he felt the presence of the Thu'um coiling around the Dovahkiin.

"Greetings, Odahviing," responded Bruniik using the dragon-tongue. "I have grave news, brother." He hesitated momentarily, his face pained. "Lydia and Joanna have been taken. I want you to take flight and find all the dragons in the Reach. Tell all of them to take flight and search for any large encampments. They are to leave them unharmed, but report if any of them are occupied by bandits."

Odahviing was surprised, to say the least, that someone had taken his brother's Lydia and Joanna. Not so much of the action itself, but of the repercussion of slighting the strongest man in Skyrim. He knew his brother well; Bruniik's response would be swift and without mercy.

"Brother, are you sure of this? If you finally take up your position as ruler, the elder dragons shall begin retaliation and you must respond or be found wanting." said Odahviing, trying to insure that his comrade was prepared to take this this path. Once he opened this door, there would be no return or reprieve; the oldest dragons would begin challenging him and not stop until he proved himself worthy as king.

"I am sure." responded Bruniik, his voice hardening into steel as a human walked towards them. It seemed to be uncertain in its approach, though, Odahviing assumed, perhaps it was frightened of him. The human man handed Bruniik armor and weapons and quickly retreated.

"What shall you do while I gather our brothers, Bruniik?" Odahviing could taste rage in the air and the power that killed a god.

"I will hunt, Odahviing. I will hunt and devour the mortals who thought they could escape me, they will know fear and pain before they die. I will insure it."

A/N: Thanks for reading. Tell me what you thought and review.

Edit-7/30/2012- Beta'd by Nenalata.


	4. and Destroy

Warpath

Chapter 4: …and Destroy

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: I own some games and a half formed idea. In fact, I own many things, but not Skyrim.

In had been nearly an hour since Lydia had woken up in the back of a carriage, maybe two. The passage of time was impossible to tell with her view of the sun obscured by the black tarp on the carriage. Even so, with Joanna's safety secured for now, she concentrated on what she could notice.

They were moving fast-the whole carriage seemed to jump with every minor bump in the road-faster than was particularly safe especially with the recent rains and the ill-kept roads of the Rift. They may have already left the Rift already if she had been unconscious long enough before waking. Joanna may have known something more, but Lydia couldn't move herself to wake her daughter from peaceful sleep next to her.

She tried once more to work at the rope around her wrists, moving her hands to and fro in an attempt to find some position from which she could find slack in the binds. Even when she felt the coarse material of the rope began to raise welts on her wrists, she continued. Fifteen minutes in she stopped; it would only serve to make her even more tired, unless she broke her thumbs, and even then, she and Joanna would be on a speeding carriage with Lydia unable to fight an unknown enemy.

Moving on quickly, Lydia began to run her hands across the tarp on top of the carriage. It was smooth and dry. She tried pulling at and it went taut quickly- probably leather. Lydia began searching the area of the cart and found that it was bare, except for her and her daughter. She moved to the edges of the cart as quietly as she could, poking at the edges where the covering and carriage wall met, and tried to feel out how their enemies had secured it to the cart.

If she was lucky, the same person who had tied their hands hadn't secured the tarp and she might be able to make an opening and see where they were going.

_Damn._

Lydia kept back the sigh that threatened to escape her mouth when she found that the leather cover went over the edge and farther then she could reach. She lay back down next to Joanna and tried to think of any other options open to her while she was unarmed, tied, and trapped that would not endanger Joanna.

This time she did sigh.

The only option left was to wait. Wait and hope that when the carriage stopped, better options revealed themselves. That was the only thing she could be sure of. At this pace, even four horses would tire soon enough and that would be her chance.

,.,.,.,.,

Once Odahviing had departed to execute his commands, Bruniik put on the leather armor that Wulfric had given him and made sure that it fit him properly. Though it was made for a slightly shorter man, it would still allow him to fight well, and give him more protection than the hide armor that he'd been wearing. Examining the bow, he noticed that it was worn, but well maintained. The wood worn down and smooth were one held the bow, the string fairly new and strong. The arrows were crude and made out of iron, but they would serve his purposes well enough. Once his new weapons were in place with his sword and Lydia's dagger, Bruniik immediately set out towards the north along the path that the bandits had retreated.

Finding the trails the running bandits had left was easy enough; the branches and grasses broken and trampled enough to let a blind man follow them. Bruniik followed as fast as he could without disturbing what his enemies had left as evidence of their passing.

Even as his body fell into the steady rhythm of running, Bruniik tried to plan out his path of approach. The amount of damage to the village showed that the number of bandits was at least a dozen, though no more than twenty or the casualties would have been considerably higher. That meant if he needed to, he could deal with them easily enough, but they may have already moved Lydia and Joanna somewhere else and the leader would need to be taken alive and torture would be required to get information.

Even if they hadn't, they would all die, just not as slowly.

,.,.,.,.,

Two hours into the chase, Bruniik came into a small clearing across a pair of wolves feasting on a dead deer. Both of them turned at the sounds of him entering and growled at him, the fur on their backs rising. The predators of Skyrim had never truly liked the Dovahkiin; they could smell the stench of death that cloaked him and the dragon souls within his mortal form. Over the years, though, most of them had learned to respect him and gave him a wide berth.

_This could be useful. _

Bruniik thought quickly as he smirked at the wolves in front of him, careful not to show teeth. The trail he'd been following was slowly disappearing; soon enough it would vanish completely and leave him without an idea where the bandits were. He'd never bothered to learn the type of magic that could help him follow a man, just the ones that let him destroy one, or a dozen. The wolves could solve that. Quickly cycling his plan into action Bruniik, called up the Thu'um and released.

"RAAN MIR TAH"

He felt the tingling in his mind, like fingers sliding over it, as the power of the Thu'um created a weak mental connection with the two wolves. The wolves felt it too, as they shook their heads and stopped growling at him.

"_Hello, four-legs."_ said Bruniik across the connection, watching as one of the wolves looked up at him, its eyes flashing in the mid-day sun.

"_Greetings, Dragon-Eater," _responded the wolf that had looked at him, its fur grey with patches of deep brown, and its snout red with blood. The other wolf seemed to ignore Bruniik's greeting and continued eating from its prey.

"_What is it you want, Dragon-Eater?"_ asked the grey wolf, its tone equal parts surprised and interested.

"_I require assistance on a hunt. Other two-legs have taken my mate and child." _responded Bruniik quickly His time was short and only getting shorter. The other wolf stopped eating and turned to glare at him, its mouth pulling back into a growl, crinkling the scar across its snout.

"W_hy should we help a dragon, especially one who eats his own kind and wears two-leg skin?" _The wolf's voice was a sharp rasp in Bruniik's mind.

"_Because if you don't, I will kill you and the rest of your pack..." _answered the Dovahkiin, smiling and showing as many teeth as he could.

"_Or you could help me and have plenty to eat." _

The wolf pinned back its ears as it growled at Bruniik and prepared to lunge at him before the older of the two stopped him with a stare. The scarred wolf backed down reluctantly and placed himself behind his leader. The grey wolf turned to look back at Bruniik and continued the conversation.

"_Pardon my brother; he has yet to learn tact." _The grey wolf's voice was in sharp contrast to his companion; weighted with the experience of years. It reminded him of Paarthurnax.

"_So are you the leader of this pack?" _

"_Yes, I am," s_aid the leader, lowering and raising his head slightly. _"I am called Greymane."_

"_Then you know where this forest's matron is?" _asked the warrior, starting to lose patience, his face not showing it.

"_Indeed I do; why should I take you to her when you threaten us with death? What is to keep you from attacking her?" _said the wolf, staring at Bruniik evenly, his tone calm and steady.

"_Because I'd rather not burn this forest down to find the men I'm looking for,_" responded the Dovahkiin, just as calmly as Greymane. The wolf stared at him for several moments before responding. Bruniik could feel the wolf's eyes staring through him and into him.

_Yes, far too much like Paarthurnax._

"_Very well."_ stated Greymane before running out of the clearing with his brother and Bruniik in tow.

,.,.,.,.,

She felt him well before he entered the clearing. The feel of his power drawing nearer with every moment, its force pushing down on her and her companions. It felt like fire, hot and overwhelming. Powered by some unknown and unending fuel. This was a dangerous creature they would be dealing with, one outside of her domain as matron of this forest. Caution was always of great importance with outsiders, but it would be a necessity with this Dragon-Eater.

,.,.,.,.,

The sun was at its apex when the trio entered the small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood a spriggan matron along with two of her younger cousins. Bruniik could already feel the touch of its power as he neared, along with the smell of trees and earth that always lingered around them. He wiped the first drops of sweat from his face.

"Welcome, Dragon-Eater," said the matron, its voice echoing in the air around them, soft and relaxed, though its body was stiff and unyielding like the material it was shaped from.

Bruniik quickly took notice of the fact that the three spriggan were not alone. In the shade of the tree line behind them he could see the moving forms of the rest of Graymane's pack. It appeared that the matron was taking precautions against him. Bruniik was unsurprised; he'd killed many spriggan before they learned to leave him alone and several that refused to.

"You know me then, matron?" asked Bruniik, trying to keep his voice calm, while he counted the seconds he wasn't on the path to his objective.

"Yes, I know of you," responded the nature guardian, her eyes watching Bruniik with the type of patience he found familiar.

"Then you also know that it isn't very smart to get in between me and what I want." Bruniik made sure to put the weight of his power on every single one of his words. The two spriggans next to the matron seemed to wither slightly under the weight of his intention; the birds and the insects in the forest around them fell silent and the wolves began to growl at him in uneven harmony.

Unperturbed, the matron continued to stare at him with Graymane taking a seat next to her.

"So tell me, where have the group of bandits that walked through this forest gone?" Every large forest had a matron spriggan in it, and each one of those matrons knew just about everything that went on in their domain. Bruniik knew that, just as the matron knew, and he didn't have time to run around with no trail to follow. Not with Lydia and Joanna in danger.

The matron placed the tip of one of her claws on Graymane's head and held it there for a moment before the wolf's eyes glowed green.

"Graymane will take you to them Dragon-Eater, but remember you are now in my debt." For the first time since the start of the conversation Bruniik saw the spriggan's glow flicker slightly. Even as he noticed this Graymane was already taking off towards the edge of the clearing.

He quickly followed and ran up next to the wolf as he ran through the forest, weaving in and out of the trees in his path.

"_Are you sure you can keep up, Dragon-Eater?" _asked the wolf as he jumped over a fallen tree. Bruniik didn't bother answering as he quickly pushed himself past the limits of any normal human and kept pace easily with his guide.

,.,.,.,.,

Lydia knew she couldn't let herself fall asleep, but she could feel her eyes growing heavier. As best she could tell it'd been nearly eight hours since she started her vigil. Each hour going by painfully slow. She could already feel herself balancing on the precipice between sleep and the waking world.

The memories came unbidden. It was the night when she and Bruniik had consummated their marriage. They had been lying in bed, with him lying on his side next to her, holding her hand. Hers always looked so small compared to his, though he always laughed that they could crush stone. He'd looked her in the eye and told her that he loved her and made the only promise she's ever heard him make.

_I would burn the world for you._

She'd always thought he was simply being the romantic fool he always was, until the day they fought Morokei, and she nearly died when the shield she was using to cover his back exploded and stabbed her with a dozen different shards of enchanted wood. Her consciousness only took a few moments to return. She was only able to watch Bruniik take a bolt of lightning through the stomach and keep going. The magic already in the air became almost physically painful as a crack like thunder shook the room. It wasn't until later that she realized that the sound was only partly from the Thu'um.

Bruniik appeared in front of Morokei in a flash of blue light, his sword cutting the air with a high-pitched whine. Morokei's left arm flew off at the elbow, the spell it was charging shooting wide and disintegrating it. A blur of light brown skin and Dragonbane cut the other arm off at the shoulder. The next moment Morokei was pinned to the ground by a blade and Bruniik was punching at the dragon priest's head, a low, continuous roar escaping his mouth. She heard a harsh crack as the mask broke in two. The entire room fell into a sudden silence.

"Bruniik?" Lydia hadn't been able to help the small tremble in her voice. The next moment he was crouching next to her, cupping her face, his hands covered up to the wrist in black ichor. His eyes were full of relief, but she could see the small embers of a firestorm smoldering behind it.

The sun blinded her, throwing her out of her memories, as the tarp was taken off with a flourish and two pairs of gloved hands grabbed her by the arms. She heard Joanna give a startled scream before it was abruptly cut off. Lydia tried to pry herself away as her vision returned. She caught a flicker of a black coat before a hand clamped down on her mouth. It was removed when she bit through the thumb and felt warm blood and bone. She felt little else after the tingle of magic filled the air.

,.,.,.,.,

By the time that Bruniik and Graymane neared their destination, the sun was already well on its way towards the horizon, turning the leaves in the trees from green to light brown and gold. They reminded Bruniik of Joanna's sixth birthday. She'd spent the entire day bothering him about how she wished that he would teach her how to use a sword like him and that she wanted him to make her a special magic sword. Just for her. He'd convinced Lydia to let him make her a small practice sword, until she turned ten and they'd both begin training her. Her eyes had gotten so wide when he gave the sword to her, gold like his, but darker in the light of the kitchen fire.

He had very few memories that made him happier than that one.

He was jolted out of his memory when Graymane stopped just outside a large clearing, the sun having already begun to set. Both of them crouched behind a boulder and surveyed the clearing. Bruniik could see at least two large fires in the clearing, surrounded by a dozen men, a smaller fire by itself off to the side, but no sign of Lydia or Joanna. Bruniik could hear violent rumblings from the vault at the back of his mind, but quickly pulled it under his control.

_So, interrogation will be necessary._

Taking a closer look at the camp he noticed that the majority of the bandits were like those he'd found in Klimmek's house, leather with bits of armor cobbled together and even some in only hide armor. There were two exceptions though; one was sitting in front of the fire in the center of the clearing with his back to the boulder Bruniik and Graymane were hiding behind. He was wearing elven armor, which turned a slightly muddy gold in the flickering light of the fire; on his back was a quiver half full of dwarven arrows. By the smaller fire sat a lone figure in blue mage's robes, his face hidden under a hood.

Bruniik hid behind the boulder again as he heard someone drawing near. A few moments later, the sounds receded and he looked again staring at the back of a man in leather armor. The leader must have set up patrols. No more than two men or he wouldn't have had them in a roving pattern for a clearing of that size.

"_Stay here,"_ thought Bruniik to Graymane. He took off his boots and followed the man who'd passed the boulder, keeping low. He drew close as the man passed a particularly thick grouping of trees. Bruniik moved with speed and efficiency that few would expect from a man his size. The watchman was only able to get out a grunt as a steel bar wrapped around his throat and nearly crushed his trachea.

"What's your name boy?" growled Bruniik into his ear.

"A…Aren."

The man wasn't able to say much more as Lydia's dagger stabbed through his throat and under the guardsman helmet he was wearing. He stumbled and coughed up blood, but Bruniik held him up and dragged him behind the boulder before the others noticed.

Bruniik did his best to wipe the man's blood from his armor.

Taking out his bow he looked at the end of the clearing to the right of the boulder where one of the men on the parameter was taking a short piss break in the small stream a dozen meters from the clearing. He was lightly armored and without a helmet. The arrow released from the bow with barely a sound and Bruniik watched it fly at his target.

His target fell into the stream with an arrow though his temple and a soft splash. No one but Bruniik heard it over the revelry from the bandit camp.

Putting on his boots again, Bruniik turned towards Graymane. The wolf looked at him expectantly his eyes showing amusement.

"_Well done, Dragon-Eater; you move well for a two-legs. Even so, I must make my departure, who knows what my brother has been up to without me to stop him." M_oving his head up and down the alpha wolf looped off silently into the tree line. Bruniik felt the light tingling sensation again as the Thu'um released his mental connection to Greymane.

Bruniik finished strapping on his boots, put on Aren's helmet, and walked into the clearing.

,.,.,.,.,

Fargor was in a bad mood. Here he was with more gold to spend, on drink, maybe a woman, and he was stuck dealing with these idiots. They were supposed to still be on the move away from the Oblivion-begotten Dragonborn, but the band of morons that he'd picked up had insisted on setting camp for the night and he couldn't very well say no. Not when they outnumbered him. Even so, he found comfort in the heaviness of the sack by his feet.

With it he could disappear and still live like a jarl the rest of his life. All he'd had to do was make sure that a town was ransacked, a woman and her daughter were taken and then make the tradeoff. But the damn whore that'd hired them hadn't told him they were taking the Dragonborn's wife. No one messed with him. Not since the end of the Dragon Crisis and the Civil War. Especially since he'd nearly burned Markarth to the ground and all but made the Forsworn extinct. He'd even heard tales that the entire Black-Briar family had died at his hands.

Just thinking of it made him want to vomit up what little he'd eaten.

But none of it mattered; as soon as the others were asleep he'd disappear into the night and never be heard from again. Let the others be Dragonborn bait while he sipped mead in Riften.

Fargor felt his hackles rise even more as one of the men he'd set on guard duty returned and headed towards the mage.

"Feh, damn mage." He muttered to himself darkly as he scratched at his scraggly beard. If it weren't for that mage's temper tantrum, they'd not have taken so long to leave and been miles further.

,.,.,.,.,

Edda felt herself coil in tighter into her robes as she tried to ignore the jeering voices behind her. For the umpteenth time, she wondered why she'd joined this group of mongrels when she could have been anywhere else. Even if the rebuilt College of Winterhold had rejected her just because she wanted to study necromancy, she still had better options.

She felt a muffled presence enter her area of the clearing and turned to watch as one of the larger bandits walked towards her at a plodding and slow pace. He stopped right next to the log she was sitting on and simply stood there for a moment.

The man was tall, almost unnaturally so, and from what little she could make out from her fire he seemed strong. She could see the muscles under the skin in his forearm as he opened his hand. Standing up she got her first look at his eyes, they looked golden, though it must have been a trick of the light. No one had golden eyes.

"The boss wants to see you," he said, his voice slow and plodding, like his walk.

"Tell him to bugger off. I'm not going to excuse myself just because his underlings are slobbering imbeciles." Her voice cracked at him like a whip. He seemed unimpressed and grabbed her shoulder. Edda's already short temper immediately lit up like a torch and she cupped her hands together, preparing to blast the man into Oblivion.

The next instant a single large hand had squeezed both of hers together. The heavily calloused fingers and palm held her fingers so hard, she was sure they'd break. The hand on her shoulder was around her neck before she realized it. Edda felt her anger disappear under the wave of fear as a scream tried to escape her throat, but came out a wheeze.

She stared up at golden voids as the monster before her broke her hands with casual easy. The small pieces of bone that were once Edda's hands snapped like twigs. She tried to scream again as a thousand thousand molten hot needles stabbed her mangled hands and forearms. She could barely hear the gurgle that escaped her mouth over the singing coming from the rest of the camp. Her feet left the ground and she felt the pressure on her throat increase. Edda's eyes felt like they were about to pop, as she tried to feebly kick at the bandit.

"Now, now, we can't have you making a mess. I need to talk to your leader. Where is he?" whispered the man into her ear, his voice monotone but holding something dark and unspeakable underneath. She moved her eyes quickly, looking at the man in elven armor. Edda could already see dark spots appearing in her vision.

"Ah, I thought as much. Thank you for your assistance." The last thing Edda felt was her throat collapse in on itself and the sharp crack of bone.

,.,.,.,.,

Fargor felt the log he was sitting on shift and looked away from the fire as the same man from before sat down next to him. Aren, he remembered, was his name.

"What are you doing here, Aren? You're supposed to be walking parameter." He tried to sound harsh and intimidating, but the effect was lost since the man next to him towered over him. The giant man simply shrugged his shoulders. Fargor sighed and turned to look at the mage as she lay on the ground next to her fire.

"So what happened with the mage? Couldn't see her through your back," he asked, though he really didn't care.

"She's napping."

"Huh?" Though he couldn't quite catch it he felt something was off. Was Aren's voice always tht deep?

As Fargor glanced at Aren, he noticed a strange red stain on the front of his armor.

_What is that?_

His mind wasn't able to keep that line of thought as he saw men and women who were sitting around the second fire they'd made begin to stand up and head towards the small fire at the edge of the clearing. He quickly realized why when he saw the dark bluish smoke curling towards the sky. He'd already stood up and walked several feet when it happened.

A blue fireball exploded from the loose semi-circle of men and women. The concussive force slapped at Fargor's face as all but two of the bandits became walking torches, their screams high pitched as only fatal pain could make.

"Always interesting what you can find in a mage's bag."

He felt the bow on his back make a sharp pull and the bowstring pull itself tight across his neck, the back cinching as the bow was turned and became a makeshift garrote.

"Don't worry, I'm not killing you," continued the voice as if nothing were wrong, the infliction and emotion gone.

Fargor felt his knees buckle under him as he watched the two living bandits run towards them. The first died as he was consumed by a small bolt of fire that punched a hole through his chest, the second had her head removed from her shoulders by a flash of steel.

He felt his head hit the ground and saw no more.

A/N: Hey there lovely readers. Took me a while to finish the chapter. It became considerably longer then I expected, the part with Fargor and Edda was supposed to be in the next chapter. Don't worry, answers shall be forth coming. Tell me what you think of the new summary and the chapter.

Edit-7/30/2012-Beta'd by Nenalata. Fixed comma errors, added a couple words.


	5. Aus Ahrk Dir

Warpath

Chapter 5: Aus Ahrk Dir

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: I own an albino ferret, some glasses, and an old yo-yo, but not Skyrim.

For the second time that day, Bruniik stood in the middle of a killing field. The soft crackle of burning flesh and bone filled the small clearing, the fires eating away at the corpses that now littered it.

Bruniik stood in the middle of all the death that he'd wrought, taking deep breaths, and trying to keep his instincts under control. The anger he'd held back for the better part of a day clawed at his consciousness, making his very bones scream for more battle, to avenge himself upon the man at his feet. But he held back the urge; it would do him no good. Information was what he needed now, not satisfaction. That would come later.

He'd never been a stranger to the particular rush of power that came to him when entering battle with sword in hand. It made him feel invincible, lika a demigod striding across the battle field preparing to unleash devastation upon his enemy. That sheer compulsion to fight and conquer his enemies had been his only constant companion for the better part of his life. Until, of course, he'd met Lydia and she'd nearly beaten him to death for running off into battle without planning ahead.

"_I'm your housecarl, not your damn pack mule! I'm supposed to fight by your side."_

Bruniik had never actually seen someone use a bow as a cudgel until that day. The thought made him smile, though it quickly turned into a scowl as he kneeled next to the leader of the bandits. He removed his bow from around his neck; it was well cared for, like Bruniik's. He broke it with a sharp crack and flung the two pieces off to the side. Removing the man's quiver from his back, he studied one of the arrows. Dwarven, like the one in Ivarstead; well forged and clean. Made by an experienced blacksmith-good but not great, and from his captive's lean frame; bought at top dollar.

_A mercenary, perhaps?_

Putting the arrows on the ground next to him, Bruniik turned the mercenary over and studied his face. His face was thin, with the skin drawn tightly over the bones; his hair lank and greasy; and a scraggly beard covering his chin and cheeks. The thought that he could turn this man into naught but ash with a flick of his wrist crossed his mind, but he pushed it back into the vault in his head.

The Dovahkiin studied the mercenary's neck, the bruise from the bow string already beginning to show and made sure he was breathing properly. Once he was sure his informer wasn't dead yet, he began walking around the camp, rummaging through the bandits' pouches that hadn't burned with their owners. The mercenary could wake at any moment; unconsciousness rarely ever lasted beyond a minute.

He'd need some rope and a healing potion.

,.,.,.,.,

Odahviing had always had little interest in the politics of his fellow dov. What little attention he'd paid to it only involved which dragon was trying to usurp his position that particular week, though that had changed when he had become, as the humans called it, Bruniik's "right-hand man". The politic of his brothers was surprisingly simple. Only the strong may lead, if you are stronger than me I shall follow you, which made it unsurprising that the majority of the dovah he'd visited in the past hours had taken orders from the mighty Bruniik Se Unslaad Strun without question. But it did make the few that did not follow his orders all the more troubling.

Landing on the peak of Mount Anthor, Odahviing settled himself on top of the word wall and prepared to wait for Bruniik to call him. His interactions with Bruniik's mate and child were limited, but from what he had learned in his conversations with him, Bruniik cared for them greatly. Enough that he would take an active part in the affairs of a kingdom he'd left on its own for the better part of a decade. The last time Bruniik had gone into battle with him had been in an attack on some city that had angered him greatly.

Odahviing was pulled from his deliberations as he heard the tell-tale sound of wing beats. He looked up to see a dragon circling over him, trying to land on the peak while coping with the blizzard that was drawing near. He always preferred colder climates to take his moments of rest; it made the chance of being disturbed by mortals less likely. When the other dragon finally landed, Odahviing was surprised to see his spine-ridged back, and the mottled pink coloring of an ancient dragon and one of his former comrades as Alduin's commanders.

"Drem Yol Lok, Lodunost," murmured Odahviing in the dragon tongue, trying to keep his tone even. From what he remembered in the time before Alduin's banishment, Lodunost had been one of the crueler dovah in his rule of the humans. Perhaps he had something to do with his earlier worries.

"To what do I owe this meeting, brother?"

"Drem Yol Lok, Odahviing," responded the ancient dragon, his voice carefully controlled, though Odahviing could hear slight currents of distaste in his voice. Lodunost moved himself close enough to converse over the growing sounds of the blizzard.

"I have heard from some of our brothers that you have begun issuing orders to our brothers from the Dovahkiin." Odahviing could almost feel the amount of bile the other dragon placed behind Bruniik's title, as if it were the most disgusting thing he'd ever come across. He felt his hackles rise at the insult to his friend, but kept himself under control, lest he insult Lodunost. There was information to be gotten from him.

"Indeed I have. Our leader has found need of us. He required assistance searching for something taken from him by the mortals," answered Odahviing, his tone controlled with the fierce will that made him so dangerous with the Thu'um.

"Ha, and just what does the mighty Dovahkiin require our assistance for? Has time finally finished destroying that little mortal brain of his?" Lodunost's lips pulled back in his best approximation of a sneer.

"I suggest you choose your words carefully, Lodunost," Odahviing's voice carrying the heavy threat of intent and power, standing to his full height on the word wall, "or they may very well be your last."

"Under whose authority do you make that order, Odahviing? That of a hairless, up jumped animal!?" Lodunost's façade of civility cracked as he reared up as well.

"By the authority of our rightful king and leader!"

"Ha! He surrendered his throne when he fled from us like the coward-" Lodunost's insult barely escaped his throat before he was interrupted by Odahviing's response.

"YOL TOOR SHUL"

Lodunost was nearly pushed off the peak when the blast of fire hit him and threw him to his back. He quickly returned to his legs and tried to fire off an ice blast, the first Word on the edge of his tongue, before another blast of fire pushed him off the cliff and into open air. Odahviing was already preparing to give chase when he hesitated. Bruniik still needed his help, and he couldn't waste time fighting some impertinent fool.

His decision was made for him when it became apparent that Lodunost was retreating as he flew up past Odahviing and towards the east. Odahviing let his wrath simmer as he prepared to wait for the call, as the blizzard finally reached the peak.

,.,.,.,.,

"Hey, wake up, boy," said a voice as Fargor was pulled from the dregs of unconsciousness with a slap to the face.

When Fargor woke, it took him a while to remember what'd happened. He remembered an explosion, and fire, and a noose tightening around his neck. That was when he realized his hands were straightened and tied above his head. His legs were left loose, though his chest was tied as well. He could feel rough bark against his naked back. His feet weren't touching the ground. The gravity of his situation hit him like a war hammer to the stomach.

_Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, this is bad._

What little resolve he'd been able to muster disappeared as he looked up and saw him. The same man from before, but without the guardsman helmet to hide his face. Much of his face was hidden from view by the shadows thrown up by the large bonfire behind him, though Fargor could see his short black hair, the tight cut of his jaw and the stubble that covered it. Fargor's analysis of his captor was cut short when he caught his eyes.

He'd seen plenty of combat as a mercenary and thief and met many warriors and soldiers. Many carried the same look of confidence, and self-assurance that survival in combat brought, but what he saw in those eyes…

They looked like sabre cat eyes, studying and breaking down how to best release him from the mortal coil. Empty and uncaring like the dark space between worlds.

"What is your name, boy?" Fargor nearly felt his bowels void themselves at the sound of the man's voice, like an ebony shard being pushed through steel. A voice that spoke of a hundred battles and a hundred victories.

"F…F…Fargor."

"Good, now what you're going to do… is you're going to listen, and listen well, because if you in any way, shape, or form impede my progress, then…well." The monster in front of Fargor seemed to chuckle to himself for a moment, and _smiled_. He grabbed Fargor's face and held it firm, his eyes never wavering, and tone almost jovial.

"Then I will show you what it means to truly feel pain. I'll start with your fingers; skin them each, inch by inch, eventually I will start removing each individual muscle from your fingers. When I'm done with that I will carve the dragon tongue into each finger bone. I won't even have to stop to sharpen my blade."

The Dovahkiin let go of his face, removed a knife from his belt and showed it to Fargor. Its blade shone a dull white, the handle wrapped in worn leather.

"You see, this is a dragon bone blade. Made it myself, and it is very, very sharp." The Dovahkiin proved his point by placing the knife blade in the bark next to Fargor's head. It slid into the bark up to the hilt as if nothing were there.

"And after I'm done with your fingers, I'll hurt you in ways that will make you useless to a woman." The smile never left the man's face.

"W…w…wait." Fargor couldn't help but flinch at the high pitch of his voice as the Dragon born removed the knife from the tree.

"Yes, I'll wait." The man walked away from him, his broad back silhouetted by the bonfire he was facing. "Tell me everything." The jovial tone was smothered under the glacial tones of tranquil fury.

"It was a high elf. I got word of the job through one of my contacts in the Dark Brotherhood. I met up with her in Morthal; she just told that I was supposed to make sure some lady and her daughter made it to the exchange. She never told me I would be messing with you." Fargor felt the words stumble out of his mouth like the intestines of a gutted troll.

In the following silence, the very air seemed to be doing its best to choke him. Something on it smelled off. Foul, like burning meat and mammoth piss. For the first time since waking up, Fargor got a good like at the clearing that his band had inhabited.

It was clear, not a body to see.

The realization came to him in a sudden moment of clarity. The bonfire the Dragonborn was standing in front off was large, far too large without some type of fuel. Human fuel. Fargor felt himself gag involuntarily, pulling at his numb arms. Tears stung at the edge of his eyes as he vomited over himself.

Once the dry heaves had stopped, Fargor tried his best to concentrate on his captor. The man crouching in front of the fire seemed to pick up something up.

"Are you gonna let me go now?"

"No." When the Dragonborn turned around, Fargor noticed the objects he'd picked up.

Dwarven arrows.

"Did you know that if you have an arrow in your body and drink a healing potion, the flesh will rebuild around it?"

A/N: Sorry it took a while for the chapter, but I've finally found a beta-reader. The lovely Nenalata. She and I have been going over some of the past chapters; nothing big just some grammatical errors. So tell me what you thought and review. Thanks for reading


	6. Tortured and Scarred

Warpath

Chapter 6: Tortured and Scarred

By: Deadsomeone

Disclaimer: I own some new bruises and an old cat, but not Skyrim.

Bruniik blinked several times, his eyes having long since become accustomed to the stench of burning people and offal, though annoyance still clouded his eyes as he stared down at his forearms and leather armor. His arms were painted up to the elbow in the red shades of human viscera, bits and pieces of cooling meat spotting his empty left hand. A lower human jaw was clutched in the right, still covered in hanging flaps of skin and hair. It creaked under the pressure of Bruniik's grip.

The small stain of blood that had covered Aren's armor before had grown to encompass the entire front of it.

He couldn't help the small growl that escaped his throat as he threw the jaw into the pyre behind him from his seat on the ground in front of the man that had once been Fargor. Eight heated arrows had been driven into his body and the tree behind it. One in each forearm and bicep, one through the armpit, the skin puckering where the healing potion had worked its magic, and four to hold the flaps of his abdomen open. His intestines and stomach littered the ground by the tree, the blood still seeping into the ropes around his chest from the hole where his jaw once was.

Though he tried his best to smother the flicker of fierce hate that still bloomed in his chest at the sight of his work, Bruniik couldn't help the slight upturn that pulled at the edge his lips. The hatred quickly turned into anger again as his mind returned from the dark place where it'd sealed itself away, and he realized he'd wasted too much time. An hour gone and frittered away from his search for Lydia and Joanna. Bruniik quickly moored up as much of his emotions as he could into the vault in his mind.

Bruniik stood quickly and moved past the ring of trees circling the clearing to just upstream from the small river where one of the bandits had been keeping watch. He kneeled and tried to wash his hands as best he could, the blood coloring the water a slight pink.

_I thought I'd long since learned to control myself, with Paarthurnax's meditations and guidance._

He scowled as a particularly large piece of muscle came off his hands and floated down the river.

_Perhaps not._

The scowl on Bruniik's face deepened as he considered everything that Fargor had told him before his screams had turned into gurgling supplications for mercy. If the high elves had truly done something as overt as taking someone from him, then the threat of his wrath was no longer enough to keep them at bay. That meant they must have had something that they believed would allow them to escape him. They would be relieved of that belief when he dropped enough power on them to make the Red Mountain's eruption seem like a candle.

Even so, their new artifact must be something particularly powerful to have made them so suicidal as to make the opening attack in the war everyone was waiting for, especially since the empire had recuperated the majority of its military might, and begun opening diplomatic discussions with the Redguard.

After insuring that the last vestiges of gore were washed from his hands and Lydia's knife, Bruniik removed his armor and tried to soak as much of the blood off it as he could. The water did little more than remove the top-most layer of blood, leaving a faint pink blot on the armor. Bruniik put on the leather armor again and considered the last of the information that Fargor had bestowed upon him.

The only thing he'd known of the cart's destination was that it was heading west.

That was all Bruniik needed to pick up the trail again; he knew someone back west who always kept a constant eye on the movements of the high elves. Why she had neglected to tell him about their plan was something he would need to take up with her.

Once he reached the now-fire-blasted clearing, Bruniik began cutting down Fargor's corpse and stripped it clean before rigor mortis set in, and threw it on the slowly dwindling fire in the center of the clearing. The smell of burning flesh filled the clearing again. It brought back memories of his time under Warlord Gracus in Hammerfell. Gracus had been one of the few men to ever scare Bruniik, but he'd taught him much of what he knew of war…and terror.

"_Attack, attack, attack! Do not retreat or give the enemy mercy. You destroy their shelters, shatter their fortifications, and burn their crops. You push them back until they kneel before you in supplication, their spirits and morale shattered, and then...then you give them the mercy of Tu'whacca's embrace."_

Bruniik pushed back his memories and brought up the power of the Thu'um once again, called Odahviing and made sure his sword and Lydia's knife were secure.

,.,.,.,.,

Odahviing set out as soon as he heard Brunik's call and navigated through the keening winds that had engulfed Mount Anthor after Lodunost's departure. The other dragon had not returned after he'd fled from their conversation, leaving Odahviing all the more concerned over what it was that he had planned.

Once he escaped the blizzard's pulling fingers, Odahviing put as much air under his wings as he could and made quick time to his destination.

Slowing quickly, Odahviing made landed with a soft thump in a clearing several miles south of Mount Anthor. The ground under his legs was black and scorched, small amounts of healthy grass surrounded by patches of small guttering flames, though the trees around the clearing seemed untouched. The smell of spellfire and burned human was still in the air.

In the center of the clearing, next to a slowly dying pyre stood Bruniik, his left hand lying on the sword sheathed at his hip, his face impassive. Odahviing could smell blood on him from the other side of the clearing. It did not surprise the dragon.

Bruniik walked up to him quickly.

"I take it that you caught up to the bandits Bruniik. I assume they did not have Lydia?"

"No, they did not." Bruniik's voice was without any infliction, but Odahviing could feel the slight currents of frustration under Bruniik's assumed calm. "They were nothing more than cat's-paws. Mercenaries."

"Hired by whom?" asked Odahviing, his voice tinted by curiosity.

"The high elves." Odahviing could feel Bruniik's anger as the Dovahkiin's brow creased and formed deep lines.

"Truly?" Odahviing was unable to hide the honest surprise in his voice. The last time the Altmer had tried to assassinate him, Bruniik's response had ended when General Tullius ordered him to stop lest he kick off another Great War; if only to give the Empire more time to be truly prepared for it.

"It makes sense. There are few groups that would have the sheer gall to confront me in such a manner. This stinks of the Aldmeri Dominion." Indeed, Odahviing found it fit perfectly into what he knew of the Altmer and their politics. "So what did our brothers have to say, Odahviing?"

"The majority of our fellow dov knew little of the bandits, though several caught sight of a carriage heading west. Some of them stated it was being led by four horses," answered the dragon, trying to keep his answer concise.

"That fits with the information I was able to extract from the bandit leader-" Bruniik was interrupted as Odahviing finished his report.

"That was not all I found on my task today, brother. Several dragons refused to follow your orders, and I was visited by Lodunost."

Odahviing watched as Bruniik seemed to visibly fight back a growl as he passed a hand through his short hair. "What did the snake want?"

"It seems your absence as king had a greater effect than you expected it to," Odahviing let his tone convey the "I told you so" as Bruniik gave him an irritated glance, "and Lodunost seems to have used it to gather other dov to his side. He may very well have expected to overthrow you when you returned, but his scheme was cut short by your sudden call to arms."

Odahviing waited as Bruniik paced for several moments and fiddled with the circle of metal on his left hand. Odahviing had always felt baffled by human mating rituals. He understood the exchanging of items as a form of contract, though why it was required for procreation and creation of kiin still escaped him. Perhaps mortals were unable to create offspring otherwise.

His train of thought was cut off as he realized that Bruniik had stopped walking and started kicking dirt onto the fire he'd been standing next to, with his back to Odahviing, shoulders tense and set.

"Do you believe Lodunost requires immediate attention, Odahviing?" Bruniik's voice came just as firmly set as his shoulders. Odahviing's chuckle made the air in the clearing shake slightly. The choice had been made already and Odahviing knew his brother well.

"Perhaps not."

"Very well then, we will be heading east. There is no time to spare and there are high elves to kill," said Bruniik as he turned towards Odahviing, his eyes filled with the same fire they'd carried when Odahviing had carried him towards Skuldafn.

Odahviing was unsurprised.

,.,.,.,.,

Lydia woke with a start, surprised and unaware of where she was for the second time in just as many days. A pounding headache left her unable to lift her head from where it lay on her chest, each time hitting her like a giant's club. Her senses returned in a quick flurry of information that kept her from opening her eyes as what little light was in the room left her corneas scorched. Lydia realized her skin felt damp with sweat and something suspiciously like blood. Straps held down her arms at her sides and legs to the rack she was on. The smell entered her conscious attention next; it stunk of blood and death, like feces and singed hair.

Like torture.

She forced open her eyes as what she realized were little red flecks of dried blood drifted past her eyes off her eyelashes. It showed her why she could feel air against her skin; she'd been stripped to the waist. Half a dozen shallow cuts covered her torso and chest over the faded scars she'd accumulated in her travels with Bruniik. Lydia lifted her head as much as she could in spite of the headache even as it continued its steady rhythm, like Bruniik at his forge.

The room was just as she remembered it before she passed out. Several large torches on the brick and mortar walls did little in banishing the deep shadows in the room. Several large tables formed a semi-circle around the rack she was strapped to. All of them were covered in swords, daggers, axes, and several objects Lydia couldn't recognize. The only other person in the room stood in front of her in dark brown robes and thick leather gloves covered in drying blood. Their skin was a light shade of gold with a high forehead and hair of the same color, though the entire right side of their face was covered in a patchwork map of scar tissue and heavily burned skin that kept going down her neck and under the collar of their robe.

Elenwen smiled as she realized that Lydia was awake. It made the right side of her face stretch and contort in strange ways. "Hmm, it seems I may have been a bit overzealous in my application of lightning." Her voice was just as Lydia remembered it; full of smugness and self-importance. Lydia had always thought that would have stopped when she had nearly died at her hand. It seemed she had the ability for infinite pride.

Elenwen cleared her throat, and continued with her right placed on Lydia's chest, just over the heart, "Now then where was I? Ah yes, now I remember. Where is it that your abomination of a husband has hidden them?" Elenwen's question was punctuated by a surge of electricity.

Lydia felt as if someone had shoved a heated bar of iron through her chest and held back a scream as she convulsed against her binds. She was damned if she was going to let Elenwen have one moment of satisfaction. She felt the cuts on her chest reopen.

Once the convulsions had stopped, Lydia could feel her heart fall into a normal rhythm again and lungs begin working again. Her mind returned in jagged pieces and sharp edges, she ground her teeth together and took several deep breaths.

"Does it hurt?" Lydia's voice came out barely more than a whisper.

Elenwen leaned in a bit closer, "Hmm?"

"The burns, do they hurt? I always heard that burns never truly stop hurting," Lydia's throat felt on fire, but she continued without pause. "That they always itch at you until it drives you mad. Always a reminder that someone defeated you, never truly able to heal. Does it always bother you at night that I beat you? That a lowly human like me left you scarred and branded your failure onto your skin forever."

Elenwen's smile disappeared from her face and Lydia could already see the beginnings of apoplectic rage forming, before that too quickly disappeared under a sharp, jagged smile.

"It seems that physical pain is not enough to convince you to divulge the information we need. Very well, there are other, more comprehensive methods to induce pain and fear." Lydia saw as Elenwen cupped both hands in front of her body and a spiraling sphere of red magic formed in it. Lydia had only a moment to realize what it was before Elenwen placed both hands on her forehead.

Lydia felt terror.

A/N: Sorry it's been forever. School has swamped me with work and writing this chapter was a pain in the ass. I 'm still not happy with it. Either way, thanks to Nenalata for betaing and catching my many errors. Tell me what you think.


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